'Sir, — and, good faith, I fain had added — Knight,But that I heard thee call thyself a knave, — Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled,Missaid thee; noble I am; and thought the KingScorned me and mine; and now thy pardon, friend,For thou hast ever answered courteously,And wholly bold thou art, and meek withalAs any of Arthur's best, but, being knave,Hast mazed my wit: I marvel what thou art.'

'Damsel,' he said, 'you be not all to blame,Saving that you mistrusted our good KingWould handle scorn, or yield you, asking, oneNot fit to cope your quest. You said your say;Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth! I holdHe scarce is knight, yea but half-man, nor meetTo fight for gentle damsel, he, who letsHis heart be stirred with any foolish heatAt any gentle damsel's waywardness.Shamed? care not! thy foul sayings fought for me:And seeing now thy words are fair, methinksThere rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great self,Hath force to quell me.' Nigh upon that hourWhen the lone hern forgets his melancholy,Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreamsOf goodly supper in the distant pool,Then turned the noble damsel smiling at him,And told him of a cavern hard at hand,Where bread and baken meats and good red wineOf Southland, which the Lady LyonorsHad sent her coming champion, waited him.

Anon they past a narrow comb whereinWhere slabs of rock with figures, knights on horseSculptured, and deckt in slowly-waning hues.'Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once was here,Whose holy hand hath fashioned on the rockThe war of Time against the soul of man.And yon four fools have sucked their allegoryFrom these damp walls, and taken but the form.Know ye not these?' and Gareth lookt and read — In letters like to those the vexillaryHath left crag-carven o'er the streaming Gelt — 'PHOSPHORUS,' then 'MERIDIES' — 'HESPERUS' — 'NOX' — 'MORS,' beneath five figures, armed men,Slab after slab, their faces forward all,And running down the Soul, a Shape that fledWith broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair,For help and shelter to the hermit's cave.'Follow the faces, and we find it. Look,Who comes behind?'

For one — delayed at firstThrough helping back the dislocated KayTo Camelot, then by what thereafter chanced,The damsel's headlong error through the wood — Sir Lancelot, having swum the river-loops — His blue shield-lions covered — softly drewBehind the twain, and when he saw the starGleam, on Sir Gareth's turning to him, cried,'Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my friend.'And Gareth crying pricked against the cry;But when they closed — in a moment — at one touchOf that skilled spear, the wonder of the world — Went sliding down so easily, and fell,That when he found the grass within his handsHe laughed; the laughter jarred upon Lynette:Harshly she asked him, 'Shamed and overthrown,And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave,Why laugh ye? that ye blew your boast in vain?''Nay, noble damsel, but that I, the sonOf old King Lot and good Queen Bellicent,And victor of the bridges and the ford,And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown by whomI know not, all through mere unhappiness — Device and sorcery and unhappiness — Out, sword; we are thrown!' And Lancelot answered, 'Prince,O Gareth — through the mere unhappinessOf one who came to help thee, not to harm,Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee whole,As on the day when Arthur knighted him.'

Then Gareth, 'Thou — Lancelot! — thine the handThat threw me? An some chance to mar the boastThy brethren of thee make — which could not chance — Had sent thee down before a lesser spear,Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lancelot — thou!'

Whereat the maiden, petulant, 'Lancelot,Why came ye not, when called? and wherefore nowCome ye, not called? I gloried in my knave,Who being still rebuked, would answer stillCourteous as any knight — but now, if knight,The marvel dies, and leaves me fooled and tricked,And only wondering wherefore played upon:And doubtful whether I and mine be scorned.Where should be truth if not in Arthur's hall,In Arthur's presence? Knight, knave, prince and fool,I hate thee and for ever.'

And Lancelot said,'Blessed be thou, Sir Gareth! knight art thouTo the King's best wish. O damsel, be you wiseTo call him shamed, who is but overthrown?Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time.Victor from vanquished issues at the last,And overthrower from being overthrown.With sword we have not striven; and thy good horseAnd thou are weary; yet not less I feltThy manhood through that wearied lance of thine.Well hast thou done; for all the stream is freed,And thou hast wreaked his justice on his foes,And when reviled, hast answered graciously,And makest merry when overthrown. Prince, KnightHail, Knight and Prince, and of our Table Round!'

And then when turning to Lynette he toldThe tale of Gareth, petulantly she said,'Ay well — ay well — for worse than being fooledOf others, is to fool one's self. A cave,Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinksAnd forage for the horse, and flint for fire.But all about it flies a honeysuckle.Seek, till we find.' And when they sought and found,Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his lifePast into sleep; on whom the maiden gazed.'Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast thou.Wake lusty! Seem I not as tender to himAs any mother? Ay, but such a oneAs all day long hath rated at her child,And vext his day, but blesses him asleep — Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckleIn the hushed night, as if the world were oneOf utter peace, and love, and gentleness!O Lancelot, Lancelot' — and she clapt her hands — 'Full merry am I to find my goodly knaveIs knight and noble. See now, sworn have I,Else yon black felon had not let me pass,To bring thee back to do the battle with him.Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first;Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight-knaveMiss the full flower of this accomplishment.'

Said Lancelot, 'Peradventure he, you name,May know my shield. Let Gareth, an he will,Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh,Not to be spurred, loving the battle as wellAs he that rides him.' 'Lancelot-like,' she said,'Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in all.'

And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutched the shield;'Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spearsAre rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar!Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord! — Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you.O noble Lancelot, from my hold on theseStreams virtue — fire — through one that will not shameEven the shadow of Lancelot under shield.Hence: let us go.'

Silent the silent fieldThey traversed. Arthur's harp though summer-wan,In counter motion to the clouds, alluredThe glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege.A star shot: 'Lo,' said Gareth, 'the foe falls!'An owl whoopt: 'Hark the victor pealing there!'Suddenly she that rode upon his leftClung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, crying,'Yield, yield him this again: 'tis he must fight:I curse the tongue that all through yesterdayReviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot nowTo lend thee horse and shield: wonders ye have done;Miracles ye cannot: here is glory enowIn having flung the three: I see thee maimed,Mangled: I swear thou canst not fling the fourth.'